It's A Boy

We took my step-daughter trick-or-treating tonight. 

Every year when we go to that first house we're both kinda nervous, and she clings to me, and the lights are on as we creep up the sidewalk - I always think, "Is this gonna work?" I get a little worried that when I ring the bell the homeowners are going to come to the door and ask me what I'm selling. As if the magic of leaving the porch light on is somehow going to vanish between one Halloween and the next.

Like one day leaving the light on isn't going to mean anything any more.

It's a silly worry. No one's told me to go away.

Standing in the fifth driveway of the night, watching my little Monster High girl ring the door bell, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my co-worker, announcing to everyone via mass text that her daughter was having a boy. Whoo hoo.

While thinking about whether I should respond with the obligatory albeit fake congratulation my five year old step-daughter yelled, "No one is coming! Should I ring it again?!"

"Sure," I yelled back, "Ring it again!" And I put my phone away.

6 Weeks

"Try again in December." That's what the doctor said. "It'll go by fast, with the holidays."

My husband said, "It's a little over one month. It's not long." 

This is exactly how long it is:
It is 4,205,648 seconds
It is 70,094 minutes 
It is 1,169 hours
It is 48 days
It is 6 weeks

What am I going to do for 6 weeks? It feels like an eternity. 

This may sound dramatic, but you can't look at someone dying of thirst and say, "wait 6 more weeks, you'll be fine. Just focus on something else for a little while." Does that person just stop being thirsty? No. I wouldn't think so.

Go Away October

A friend paid us a surprise visit on Sunday. When the doorbell rang we thought it was our neighbor returning our dog. He frequently escapes from under the fence. Lately it's been a source of contention between us and the neighbor. So when the doorbell rang my husband and I froze. Shit, is what I first thought. 

But when we opened the door and saw who it was we were relieved. Well, I wasn't entirely relieved because it was the friend who's wife had the baby shower I skipped out on. Damn. 

But when we filled him in on our recent bad news I didn't feel so bad. We've had a rough month...

-Missed Miscarriage

-D&C

-My husband's grandmother had a stroke and we had a late night rush to the ER, the way our luck is going she could pass away by Halloween. We're all still kind of waiting...

-Our cat ran out and a stray dog killed her

-We took the stray dog to the pound and since we told them it killed our cat in front of our very eyes I'm guessing it didn't last long. 

He said he was sorry he only brought us a political yard sign. 

How Stupid

How stupid was I? To think I could get pregnant again, so soon after the D&C. 

We discovered no heartbeat October 4. I was 10 weeks pregnant. The baby measured 9 weeks. I was sent home, told to wait. In my older posts I talk about the wait, and the decision, and the surgery. 

After the D&C my first cycle started October 22. I thought we could start trying again. I thought we could be carrying the news home for Thanksgiving. I thought this could be the week.

The doctor sat down in front of me today. One of her eyes is a little...off. Sometimes it rolls a bit, not much but enough to notice. I always try  not to stare, to focus on what she's telling me. It's only the third time I've seen her so, I haven't gotten over the initial- shock is too strong a word, lets call it "awareness." The initial awareness that something's not quite right with one eye. 

Anyway, she looks at me with her eyes, both of them this time, and asks what the plan is. "Um, well...I started last Monday, my first cycle. Bled for five days..." At this point see I was still thinking we would be back in the baby making sack by Saturday. I was thinking she was going to agree with me.  

"We're ready to start right away." I said that last bit positively, with certainty, this is what we want. 

My doctor looks like a grandmother. With a lazy eye. She's older, she feels maternal, she even sounds like a grandmother. Her speech is soft and a little slow, and she punctuates every bit of her bad news with a smile, a smile that says it hurts now but wait, it won't hurt long.  

"Well," she says, "you know when a woman gets pregnant so soon after something like this there is a 50/50 chance, " and I KNEW she was going to say "they get pregnant again." I was ecstatic! I had built this moment up in my head, I KNEW what she was going to say. 50% chance we'll be pregnant again, I'll be eating turkey for two by Thanksgiving. I knew she said that. I knew it. 

So stupid. 50% chance of being pregnant again? That doesn't even make sense. Where did I get that? 

"There's a 50/50 chance of another miscarriage." That's what she really said. And when you read in books that common little phrase, "took a minute to sink in," ha, I know exactly what that feels like. 

For the first time in my whole entire life something "took a minute to sink in." 

Did she just say that? Why? She's telling me to wait. She's telling me its safer. She's telling me she wants to monitor my progesterone. She's telling me it's better to do it this way. 

I don't believe her. And I'm angry. And I feel stupid. 

The Heron

My husband and I had to attend a democratic thing. A dinner. No, correction. A "roundup." 

"What's a Democratic Roundup?" My husband asked the girls in the front office. That's what we call them, The Girls. Even though one is old enough to be our grandmother. They giggled at him. They always giggle at him. Even when he's throwing a tantrum - which sometimes happens. 

"It's where you wear your best cowboy boots and hat," the youngest of The Girls said. Only she said it where the word "hat" sounded like "haaaiit." You know, fake country, long and drawn out. "Then you eat BBQ and cornbread." Again, fake country. Long and drawn out. 

Turns out she wasn't far off. There was a "Best Dressed Cowboy," and "Best Dressed Cowgirl" award for the night. And we ate brisket with BBQ sauce. 

Driving to the "roundup" the two lane blacktop curves around, hugging what is like a wet meadow. Standing in the glassy water was a heron. I was driving, and caught just a brief glimpse as we sped past. I would not have seen the bird at all if my husband hadn't stirred in the seat beside me. "Here lately I've seen that bird every time I come through here." 

"I don't remember ever seeing that bird," I said. 
"I do, I've seen it every time lately."
"Maybe it's just you."

He laughed, "I'll call it Cooper." 
"Good ol' Coop," it was my turn to laugh.

Later, after dinner, thinking about the heron I Googled "heron symbolism." 

Apparently Native Americans believe herons represent the ability to move forward, they also represent lessons in patience.

Coincidence? Maybe. 

Then again, my husband is Native American.  

CD2

I have never been so excited see AF.

All the melancholy, morose feelings were gone. Thank you Jesus. I'm normal.

I'm officially counting now. Monday was the day. The real first cycle day. And today is CD2.

If you don't know what AF or CD2 means, let me explain. If you do know, were you as shocked as I was to learn all the acronyms and abbreviations on the internet for women TTC'ing, or, in other words, trying to conceive? It's a whole new language!

Some of my favorites are:
CD - Cycle day
O- Ovulation
AF- Aunt Flow
DPO - Days past ovulation
CM - Cervical mucus (gross I know, but you get surprisingly wrapped up in what your mucus looks like during the TWW)
TWW - Two week wait (that painfully agonizing two weeks post ovulation before you can get your BFP)
BFP - big fat positive
BFN - big fat negative

Those are just a few, there's a whole host of baby bump related letters. I'm a pregnancy forum stalking junkie.

My Sappy Song List

Remember my rum and coke pity party? Click the link to hear the music.

It's Okay - A Playlist

I also found a number of sad pins and I made a Baby Loss board.

The good days get better, and hopefully the bad days hurt less.

I'm Being Selfish Today- On Purpose.

Turns out, I may not be having my cycle. After the initial bleed it stopped. And nothing else happened. Today there's nothing. 

Last night I wallowed in self pity. I made a playlist of sappy songs. I cried. I stayed up too late. Had one too many rum and cokes. And fell asleep on the couch. I woke up this morning with gummy eyes and a bad taste in my mouth. And I smelled bad. 

And to top off that late night pity party- I'm being selfish. I'm purposefully skipping out on a baby shower today. As I am typing the expectant mommy is probably drinking pink punch and laughing at melted snickers in diapers. 

I can't do the fake poopy game today. Not today.

First Cycle Day?!

Am I having my first cycle day since the D&C?! No way. It's way to soon. But when I looked again, it was still there!

Shut. Up.

D&C on October 12th. Bled for three-four days. Then nothing. And today, October 20th- Hello! It's been exactly one week since my D&C. 

TMI? I'm sorry. Go find another blog, we're trying to get pregnant over here.

I see the doctor for my post-surgery check-up October 29th. I could be back in the game! 

Staying Positive

I've got this stupid pregnancy photograph board on my Pinterest account. It's all these photos of pregnant women posing for their pregnancy photo shoots. I saw it this morning with my morning coffee and thought, "ugh I've got to get rid of this board!" But, I'm having a change of heart.

Because everyday is like taking one step further from our miscarriage. It feels less painful. Less emotional. Less hurtful. Less angry. Less despondent. Less all those things people feel when they grieve. 

I'm keeping the board AND I'm going to add one - Pregnancy Announcements. 

I mean come on, isn't this too stinking cute?!

When Someone Doesn't Know

I had someone in my office today who heard through the grapevine that I was pregnant. But the grapevine did not tell him I was un-pregnant. 

He came into my office with a question. I do that for people, answer questions. In fact, you could say that's my full time job. Answering questions. I get asked questions about everything. I'm like Google in high heels. 

So he had a question. And while he's sitting at my desk, asking his question he says, "It smells like food in here." It was 1:30, someone had just eaten lunch in the office. Did I mention he's an investigator? 

I said something like yes and I nodded and I'm sure I smiled politely. Then he says, "If I were pregnant I couldn't stand to be in here." He gave me a big smile. He waited for his joke to sink in. "Not that I"ve ever been pregnant," another big smile. I smiled back, I'm sure I did.

  

Feeling Alone

That's it. I'm out for this month. And more than likely I'm out for the next month. 

I don't know what to compare it to. I can only think of one analogy:

Imagine you're at the Olympics. You've spent your whole life preparing for this moment. You're at the starting line and the gun is about to go off and then you'll be running down the track - toward gold. 

The gun goes off and you take off and then three steps later, before you even get the chance to taste competing you crash - your ankle spontaneously breaks! For no reason! 

It happens they say, these spontaneous breaks. No one can really say why. Wait four more years. You'll be fine. Just try again. There's still time. 

Meanwhile everyone else is absolutely stampeding past you. Hurtling themselves forward at alarming rates, heading for your gold, getting your applause, your recognition, your moment! And no matter what anyone says, you know you may never get to this point again in your entire life. It may very well be over.  

That's what it feels like. You're out, just like that. And everyone else is herding away happy and content in their own pregnancies. You are out of your cycle group, you are out of your birth month group, you are now behind the rest of your friends who got pregnant around the same time as you. 

I'm back in that very large group of non-pregnant women and I feel very very alone. 

The Effect of Pregnant Women

I stood next to a pregnant woman today. I know her. We're friends. She got pregnant three weeks before I did. She had miscarried this summer and by the beginning of August she was pregnant again. Everyone felt really bad for her, including myself. And when I got pregnant I kept comparing myself to her and I would think, "I won't miscarry." "That won't be me." But it was. 

Standing next to her was painful. She had her little baby belly and her cute maternity dress. I said hi to her but didn't ask her how she was doing. I hope she didn't think I was being rude. I think we both felt a little awkward, her for being pregnant and me for being empty... Neither of us knew what to say. She did her business and I did mine. When she was done she left. 

People in the room seemed awkward too. We all know each other. Everyone knew she was pregnant and I was not. No one said anything to her about her pregnancy. 

I kept watching her. I hope I was doing it discreetly, but I probably wasn't. I watched her lean over the table. The table pushed her dress tight against the bottom of her stomach, stretching the fabric over her baby bump. She stood up on her toes and her tummy pooched out. I saw her rub her stomach once. 

It may sound mean of me, but I was relieved when she left. 

D&C: The Surgery

The hospital scheduled my D&C for the wrong date but they were "adding me on." By the time the nurse in Surgery figured out the dilemma it was almost noon. I signed in and waited with my husband - a woman sprawled on the couch behind us was snoring, her pants were down and I could see her thong. I pointed it out to him and we shared an immature chuckle. There was an older guy on his speaker phone yelling about a car. He kept asking the woman on the phone if she was Sherry. Yes, she kept saying, this is Sherry. 

The nurse at the desk didn't have my chart. I told her I was scheduled for today but the hospital got the date wrong. "So you aren't having the surgery today?" She asked. "Oh wait, you're the add on." She produced my file and shuffled through the pages. Turns out I had no anesthesia paperwork in my file. I was starting to wonder if this was one of those eerie portents, a warning - maybe if I had this surgery I wasn't going to come out alive. And people would say, all those signs... the wrong date the wrong paperwork - why did she go through with it?

 I signed the permission slip - I give consent for the hospital to put me under and to suck out my fetus. 

When they finally swept me into Surgery, away from admits and the general hospital population, I felt better. I'm not going to say I felt great, but I felt better. My husband sat with me in a private room and stole Fall Risk bracelets from the desk drawer. He put on my surgery cap. We made fun of the hospital gown. The anesthesiologist gave him a sticker for good behavior. 

After the IV was in and  I was tucked under warm sheets waiting to actually go to surgery, the door opened and a young nurse entered. She had a pamphlet in one hand and a piece of paper on a clipboard. She handed me the clipboard and asked me to read it. I saw the words "Floral Haven," and immediately handed the clipboard to my husband. "You read it," I said. Floral Haven was a funeral home. Later he told me the form gave the hospital permission to cremate our baby's remains. I told him their timing sucked. The nurse handed me the pamphlet and then, because she knew the timing sucked, she snatched the clipboard and practically ran from the room. I looked at the folded up rectangle in my lap. MISCARRIAGE was stamped across the top. I handed that to my husband too. He handed me a tissue. 

The rest of the procedure went off without a hitch... as far as I know. They knocked me out in the operating room and I woke up thirty minutes later. The first thing I wanted to do was pee. It was also unfortunately, the very the last thing I wanted to do. 

But I peed, and thank god everything seemed to be okay.   

D&C: Wrong Day?

It was time for the baby to go. For two days after we found out I didn't take a shower. I didn't want to look at my midsection. That might sound weird. I don't care. It's part of why I'm writing this down. To get the weirdness out. 

For several days I kept thinking, there is a dead baby in there. When I got dressed I thought, I'm putting a shirt on over my dead baby. I'm walking the dog with my dead baby. I'm taking my dead baby to work. 

Horrible horrible thoughts. I was in a terrible melancholy mood. Friday couldn't come fast enough, and I think my husband would have agreed with me.

Friday morning I got up early and despite the warning not to eat or drink anything after midnight I had a cup of coffee. And half a brownie. In five hours my baby was going to get sucked from my uterus, I needed some chocolate and a little caffeine. I told my husband I wasn't supposed to eat or drink, but that I was going to eat this anyway. He was okay with that. It's one of the reasons I love him.

He also made us late. It's one of the reasons he drives me crazy. Schedules are suggestions to him. "You don't really have to be there two hours early," he said. 

"Yes. I do." 

"We'll just be waiting around for two hours." 

When we parked the truck in the parking garage we were already thirty minutes late. It was a fifteen minute frantic walk around the hospital looking for surgery before we found Surgery Admit. Despite the circumstances the nurse at the desk did not respond to my situation with "character." 

"You're here for what?" She asked.

"A D&C." I said for the second time since our initial introduction.

"What time were you scheduled?"
"One o'clock." I looked at the clock on the wall, it was 11:45. We were scheduled to be at the hospital at 11:00 for Pre-Op Admissions. But my husband was my driver, and I've already talked about his attitude toward schedules.

"What doctor?" The nurse asked, looking at a computer screen. 

"Blackstone." 

"What's your name."

I told her. Robyn Jones. 

"You aren't on our list. I don't have your chart. Can you sit over there please?" Sure, of course. I was dressed in sweatpants and no operating room to go to. This is why we get here two hours early. I started to cry.

The nurse came over after a few minutes with a piece of paper. I saw she had scribbled my name down. And it was spelled wrong! Relief was so intense I almost laughed. That's why I wasn't on the list. "My name is wrong," I said, "It's R.O.B.Y.N. Not with an I. It's my fault, I should have spelled it for you." Whew. I smiled at my husband, I don't remember if he smiled back. She shuffled off with my corrected name on her paper. 

"Is your birthday May 2, 1983?" She called from her desk.

"Yes." 

"I found you! But you are scheduled for 11/12/12 not 10/12/12," this time she was the one laughing. Not really laughing, just a chuckle, but to me it was a mean spirited hateful laugh. Like, you dummy you came in on the wrong day! Come back in a month. Haha.

"No," I said, "you have the date wrong. It's scheduled for today." 

She looked doubtful. "What are you scheduled for again?"

For the third time, "A D&C." 

"Let me call the surgeon."

Over the whoosh of the automatic OR doors opening and closing I could hear her muffled conversation with the doctor's office. I was having my own internal conversation with myself, I'm not leaving here with this baby, I'll go to another hospital, I'll find another doctor, they'll have to pry me out of this chair if they think I'm leaving without one less person- 

"Ma'am," the nurse was back. "We're adding you on." 

Thank you Jesus. 

Moving Forward

Two weeks. There was no heartbeat on Thursday. By the following Monday I knew two weeks was to long. 

If you have a dead baby in your body don't let it sit there for two weeks. Maybe that's just me.

I called my doctor. "I need a D&C." 

When they told us Thursday the baby would have to come out naturally or surgically I had never heard of a D and C. When the doctor asked, "Do you want a D&C," I automatically said no. I didn't even know what it was. I didn't ask a single question about it. I had to google it later, after the fair, when I realized two weeks was too long. I had asked my husband what was that D thing the doctor was talking about and he said he wasn't listening to that part either. 

Turns out a D&C is like an abortion. When I called the doctor and asked for one the nurse said they don't do them. Excuse me? 

"We have to refer you to a surgeon."

"How long will that take?"

"I'll get the process started and call you back."

"Okay." No. Not okay. Now that the decision was made I wanted one now. 

I reported the news to my husband. "Why don't you call another doctor," he said.

"Can you even do that," I asked, "can we just call another doctor and say I want...this thing done?" He shrugged. He had never done this before either.

I googled again. D&C, Surgeon, Local. I made the phone call. It was Columbus Day and our office was hosting a character building session for the employees. The word of the day was "character," and the guy doing the seminar who looked a lot like Joe Biden defined character as, and I paraphrase, the way a person reacts to a situation regardless of the circumstances.

When I called the surgeon I found on google the nurse who answered the phone reacted with what our Mr. Biden would have deemed, "with character."

"You're how far along?" She asked when I sobbed into the phone about a D&C.

"I'm 11 weeks now, I was 10 weeks when we found out."

"How far along did the baby measure?"
"10 weeks."

"Can you come in on Wednesday?" Of course I could.

I did better than my doctor. I got myself a date for a D&C that Friday before his office made their first referral. Despite a situation that seemed out of my control I think that I too, reacted with character. We were moving forward. 

On the Ferris Wheel

The day we learned there was no heartbeat my husband and I emailed work and took the rest of the day off, claiming "bad news at the doctor." Then I put on a roast, fed the dogs, picked up my step-daughter from school, and, as promised, we took her to the fair. Life doesn't stop just because the one in your midsection decided to. 

I cried. I cried when we got home from the second ultrasound. I cried in the middle of our living room after the first ultrasound. I cried when I fed the dogs. And I cried over the crock pot.    

I cried in the car all the way to kindergarten. I stopped crying when we saw her, waiting in the pick up line. "How's the baby?" she asked. She knew we had gone to the doctor. We knew what we were going to tell her. "The baby isn't growing as fast as we thought," I said, "It's going to take a little longer for us to make that brother or sister." 

She seemed to take that in stride, contemplating it in her five year old little brain. I turned around and gave her what I still hope was a confident smile, "We're still working in it, everything is going to be okay." And there it was, the first verbalization that yes, everything was going to be okay. And I believed it, for a little bit.

We took her to the fair for two reasons, 1) I promised, and I believe in keeping promises, and 2) I needed to get out of the house.

Looking back I don't know if that was emotionally the best decision. What is worse, 1) staying at home in bed with the lights out and the covers over your head or 2) riding the Ferris wheel with a frantically giggly five year and a dead fetus in your uterus? Funnel cake never tasted so bad. 

My body had not expelled the baby. In fact, I learned this a week later, my body was still operating business as usual. It's going to come out, the doctor had said, either naturally or surgically but the baby is going to have to come out. And that's a scary thought. 

"When?" I asked.

"Anytime."

"How?"

"You'll feel cramps and there will probably be a lot of blood."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Call me in two weeks."

Two weeks. Sitting in the Sky Ride looking out over the fair grounds I turned that conversation over and over in my head. Two weeks. Dead baby. No heartbeat. Lots of blood.

If a cable broke and our Sky Ride car fell to the parking lot I would not have been even the least bit surprised.

Losing Baby

The doctor told us. I knew he was about to tell bad news, but not from anything my body ever said to me. My body had been clicking along without a clue. 

Maybe it was when the nurse visibly stiffened, or when no one exclaimed "there's baby!" when we knew that fuzzy out of focus bean was the baby, maybe that's when I started to know. 

I had a dream the day before. In my dream there was no baby. Maybe that's where, deep down, in the places you don't want to go, I knew.  

Regardless, I knew it was bad news before the doctor opened his mouth, before he put his tongue to the back of his teeth to make the, "th," sound. The sound in the beginning of the word, "there's."

"There's no heartbeat." And there it was. The Bad News. 

What does a first time expectant mother do with that kind of Bad News? 

I cried. I laid my head on the back of that stupid plastic bed and cried a soundless cry. I stared at those stupid fluorescent light fixtures in the ceiling and cried. I thought about how stupid I was for telling everyone so soon, and I cried. I thought about that stupid gallon of paint in the soon-to-be nursery and I cried. I thought about that stupid baby shower gift list I started, the phone calls, the plans, the dreams. I felt cheated. And I cried.

I wasn't thinking about my husband, I wasn't thinking about Dad. I could sense him next to me, his hand on my shoulder, in my hair, reaching for my hands. Just because his eyes were dry doesn't mean he wasn't crying. I know he was. 

The TV screen was angled invitingly for eager parents to get the first or, if they're lucky the second, third, fourth pictures of their little one. On our screen, for about five minutes, was the black and white image of our baby. And even though the "cameras were rolling," or in other words, we were watching in real time, it looked like a photograph - everything was so frustratingly still. 

I just wanted one little wiggle. 

The doctor asked if we wanted a picture. I guess some people say yes, and they tote home the photo of their dead baby stowed away in purses, clenched hands, breast pockets, back pockets, tucked in bibles, etc. But I declined.  

We'll never forget the doctor's cursor moving over our still little bean while he explained that at 10 weeks there really should be a heartbeat.